Meridian
by Kay Willow
Summary: *spoiler warning* Clay's true place has finally been found -- not as a Candidate on GOA, but as an Observer on GIS. But what is an Observer, anyway...? (*chapter 1 added 8/20*)
1. The Prologue

I like to call this thing "the Clayfic" in my spare time. For those of you unacquainted with it, it's basically my way of bumbling through an explanation of what I currently think an Observer is. (For those of you who ARE acquainted with it, don't spoil any of the surprises. ^^ ) This is the prologue: I expect there to be five chapters, of which one is already half-written, with a possible epilogue. 

* * *

MERIDIAN   
a theory-made-fic   
Kay Willow   
  


It'll only be another few moments before we dock at GIS. I suppose I should be nervous, or happy, or awed. Or anything really, but the only thing in my mind is a faint emptiness and a buzzing horde of questions without answer. What lies ahead of me? What is the weight of the things I've left behind? What kind of life will I find on GIS? Will I make new friends? Can anything replace the friends I've lost? Will I have time for new friends? What sort of work will I be doing anyway? 

I'm going to be an Observer. 

I have no idea what an Observer is. Neither does anybody else, although I've done the best job of inquiring I could, considering how nobody on the shuttle really wanted to speak to me. Many of them were noncombatant workers -- techies or engineers, the kind of person I always imagined myself becoming after I failed out of the GOA Pilot program -- and seemed to regard me as different, to be pushed away if I got too close, even when I tried to assert our similarities. Perhaps I look like a tourist or something, in my perfectly normal non-uniform overshirt and slacks, with my duffel bag and a laptop computer. Or maybe they know that only mere hours ago I was a Candidate, and consider me to be from a world that only peripherally connects to theirs. My mind can come up with a thousand possibilities. 

I'm tired of thinking. I wish I could've just gone to sleep, but it's too late now, and Zero appears to have affected me with his insomnia. It's funny how people so often say that Zero is stupid or airheaded, but he's really far from it; he merely gets so deeply into whatever it is that he's thinking about at the moment that he can't help but be excited, and his excitement stops up his tongue and makes him trip over what he really wants to convey. When he manages to stop and calm himself and speak with reservation, he winds up with some truly inspirational and poetic things to say... 

No. Don't think about Zero.> 

I wonder what kind of reception I'll get there. I don't know what I'm doing, so I really have no expectations; if I were half as smart as they say I am, I'd be like Hiead and focus on the moment instead of having an anxiety attack about the future. Not that Hiead is particularly focused on the present either -- really, I suppose he's actually more capable of seeing the big picture in everything, so he always knows exactly where he is on his path. That's Hiead for you. He's ambitious and is constantly aware of how to achieve his goals, and nothing can ever get in his way when he wants... 

No. Don't think about Hiead.> 

GIS seems so tiny compared to GOA. It's like my world has shrunk all of a sudden, reduced now to this single ship, and yet at the same time it's expanded, because Azuma-kyokan said that as an Observer the fate of all humankind would be within my jurisdiction. It's an odd sensation, this new feeling of power. I don't know if I like it or not. 

I know what the others would say. Yamagi would laugh at me and call me a wuss for not reveling in it, exploiting it, but he'd do the same if he had it in his hands. He's always been a hypocrite, Yamagi. Roose isn't like that -- he and I are very similar in our approach to power, which is more or less to leave it to the professionals and stay away unless absolutely necessary. That's why he refrained from ever using his EX. But I always knew, about him, and about Yamagi, and about everyone really, because that was my own EX... 

Stop thinking about them.> 

The announcement comes, pleasant male voice informing the passengers that luggage should be collected now because docking would begin momentarily. It's so odd; it feels like I have nothing at all to bring with me. I have almost no personal possessions, only a handful of clothes and a few books and my laptop and what few mementos are precious enough to cling to. 

I don't even have my glasses anymore. 

Saki has them now. 

Don't think about Saki. Above all else, don't think about Saki.> 

There are people waiting for me, scientists who watch me descend from the shuttle with respect in their eyes, and it makes me feel very distant from them. More people I should be able to relate to, more people I might have been like if not for the quirk of my EX. As it is, I can't look directly at any of them. They've deliberately put me on a pedestal and elevated me to some sort of superior being already. I can't bring myself to care enough to disillusion them, to make them treat me like an equal at the best. Let them idolize me. 

I'm going to be an Observer. 

Frustratingly enough, discreet inquiries get no revelations about that topic as they march me to my destination, giving me a fairly standard introductory speech. The scientists are only an escort, and refuse to say anything that I really want to know. They all insist that Doctor Rivould should be the one who gives me all the relevant information. One of them said, "Too many misconceptions are going around about what an Observer is already." 

A seemingly innocent statement, but it doesn't fool my EX. I realize immediately that none of them know what an Observer is either. 

It's all very, very interesting. 

They take me to a sanitarization station -- pure paranoia, considering that I've just come from GOA, which has it's own decontamination unit and never would've approved me for Candidacy if I were a carrier for the virulent diseases sometimes common on the lower-budget colonies -- and leave me in the care of the workers there. Twenty minutes later I feel like a completely different person, fresh and clean and totally disoriented. 

Where am I? What happened? How did I get here? Who are these people? When will I finally know these answers? 

Where do I go now? 

They take measurements and within minutes give me a new uniform. Of course. Uniforms are mandated everywhere, I see. You can abandon the monotony of Candidacy, and exist outside the system's ranks, but you can never escape the uniforms. No matter where you go and what you do, someone will follow you and insist that you wear a uniform so everybody knows where you are in the great food chain. 

I will be one of only two people currently alive to wear this uniform. It's much too grand for someone like me; long black slacks and a thick, engulfing black-and-white tunic that goes over a bizarre tabard which down to my knees, sticking out far beyond the shirt itself. It seemed ridiculous when I put it on, just random pieces of fabric thrown together and called a uniform, but after I saw myself in the mirror it seemed like a dreadful mistake. It looked positively kingly, or something a wizard might wear as he sat by his king's side, playing the role of advisor and sage guide. 

Doctor Kuro Rivould is an Observer. 

Perhaps, in the end, that is what an Observer is. A wizard, a sage, a puppeteer; someone who pulls the strings from behind the scenes, manipulating others from a position of knowledge that he shares with no one. 

But as I find my footsteps taking me up a curving flight of stairs, past a great tree that seems like it could not possibly thrive so well on GIS, I know that this isn't true. At its most simple, that is still an oversimplification of what an Observer is. 

I must know. I must find out the meaning.> 

As I told Zero, I have come here to find the "truth". 

I will learn what an Observer is, what an Observer knows.> 

And I'll make sure that we win.> 

That YOU win.> 

This is the only way I can help you. Zero, Hiead, Yamagi, Roose... This is the only way I could ever have helped you, even from the beginning. I was a fool not to realize it -- to deny it and run from it. Perhaps coming here meant that I would be alone and lost in a world without stable ground, but when I gain my ground, there will be nothing I can not do.> 

I... have power in this way. Power that none of you will ever know.> 

Because I'm not like you.> 

Then I am there, passing through a door that glides open silently without needing my touch, entering a room, huge and hollow, lit only by the awe-inspiring glow of Zion beyond the enormous windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. Silhouetted against it is a wide-backed chair, and beside it is Teela Zain Elmes, First among the Goddesses, and in that chair sits Doctor Kuro Rivould. 

My mentor. The man behind all of the Pilot program. An unknown and mysterious individual who is privy to all the secrets that no one else in the universe could know. 

Teela is an intimidating figure, beautiful beyond comprehension and elegantly composed as she was painted a straight-backed shadow against Zion's brightness. She was an impossibility in the flesh, female with EO-type blood and EX -- more than one EX! -- things which defy all the known laws of the universe. And there she stands, proud and serene, hands clutching one of Kuro's between them. 

And Kuro himself is far from what I had imagined him to be. Tall and lean, probably rangy at some unknown point in the past: but now, in his declining years, he is nearly skeletal, almost frighteningly so. His skin lined with the burden of tending to hundreds upon hundreds of hopes and dreams, with the weight of all humanity's survival; nearly the only thing about him that gives the lie to his seemingly world-weary and faded appearance is his eyes, brilliant sapphire blue that teem with wisdom and burn with intensity. 

My eager mind absorbs every detail of them both with a fervor that doesn't show on my face. I can only gaze at them dispassionately, no expression or feeling crossing over into the flesh. I don't know what they make of me; I don't care. 

They have no choice. No one else in the program has this EX, the ability to become an Observer -- whatever that means. 

They need me. 

I have power now, as I could never have as a Candidate. 

When you are a Candidate, they can replace you. Even as a Pilot, you can be replaced. 

Kuro does not stand to make a proper greeting, only turns to pin me with that enlightened blue gaze, and I know suddenly that he isn't going to tell me. 

"Welcome. Welcome to GIS, Clay Cliff Fortran," he intones, his voice both deep and tired. "Welcome, and well met, to the battlefield at the end of history." 

He won't tell me, because he expects me to find out for myself. After all... 

"Welcome, Last Observer." 

...I am an Observer.   
  


~tsuzuku...~ 


	2. The Fifth Goddess

As I was finishing this, what should come up but Semisonic's "Closing Time" on my Winamp, along with a simple, wistful skin of Calvin and Hobbes? If you think about it, it starts twisting your mind until it makes sense. 

This fic amuses me in my spare time. It's very developmental: a lot about characterization, and very little of plot. The plot will actually come in one big lump in the fifth chapter. ^_~ So if you're not willing to read a story which isn't about romance OR extensive plot, then... don't read it. It's not my fault you're uncultured. *long-suffering sigh* 

* * *

MERIDIAN   
a theory-made-fic   
by Kay Willow 

PART 1: The Fifth Goddess   
  


Doctor Kuro gave me what is possibly one of the least informative briefings I've ever been given. He told me nothing I didn't already know. He gave me a rundown on the situation, on the purpose of the Ingrid Pilot Program that encompasses GOA, GIS, and all the colonies. He even went so far as to list the divisions of the interplanetary government, and how the president and her various committees relate to and support the program. 

Information that any schoolchild is taught. 

Then he looked me in the eye and said, "An Observer oversees all these things. But he has another, greater task. And I will not tell you what it is. You will find it out for yourself." 

I have been given a test. No, a challenge. A dare to prove myself. 

He instructed me to study each of the Goddesses, each Pilot and each Repairer, and bring back reports on them. Not facts, not details that could be learned with my near-unlimited access to the system; Kuro wanted me to go to them, analyze them, and evaluate them. He wanted me to give him a report such that could only be garnered from personal experience and investigation. 

That would be child's play. With my EX, every single motion of my subject's body would betray what I needed to learn. I decided to start at the end of the rank and work my way up, a decision affected not only because the concept of investigating Teela made me nervous -- but because I thought perhaps I would find it simplest to evaluate someone I was already acquainted with. 

The basic statistics were obscenely simple to acquire. Pilot Erts Virny Cocteau, newly promoted from Candidate 05 to Pilot 5; orphaned by the Victim, adopted by colonial leaders Hiram and Dora Cocteau on D-09884, brought to the system against his will but quickly having become the best of the best. Repairer Tune Youg, promoted some time back from Repairer Candidate 39 to Repairer 5, originally partnered to Ernest Cuore; orphaned by the Victim, raised in the orphanage, chose to enter the system. Goddess Reneighd Klein, signifying upset on the part of the Repairer in the choice of a name modeled after what was probably supposed to be 'renegade', and -- oddly -- devotion on the part of the current Pilot, who had chosen to keep 'Klein' from the previous Pilot's choice. 

But I knew that this wasn't what Kuro was asking me to learn. 

Erts was a surprisingly difficult person to find. There are only two areas of GIS where my security clearance won't pass me through, and those are the Pilots' living quarters, and the Goddess maintenance hangar while it was in formal use, whether for actual battle or mere practice sim. And these were, oddly, the places where Erts spent much of his time: unless he was doing his job as a Pilot, he was in his room, hiding away from everyone else. 

Tune was very cool when I asked her about it. 

"He is a private person," she said distantly without looking straight at me. I couldn't help remembering Erts' real Repairer, Rome Lotte, a demure and extremely polite girl who was pleasant in all things. Tune seemed to be a similar type of person, but I couldn't bring myself to compare them. Not only was it cruel, but it would be somehow inexplicably insulting, although to whom I wasn't sure. 

"Well, if I can't see him, perhaps I can speak to you," I proposed reasonably. "I was wondering if you could tell me about--" 

"No," she said. 

And no matter what I said to her, she wouldn't answer any of my questions, even obliquely. By the time she made her excuses and fled, she was nearing tears. 

Though I continued the search and looked for him at mealtimes, I didn't see Erts anywhere. I reported my lack of progress to Kuro that night, and then went to bed and rested until the lights were turned on for what passes, in space, as morning. 

It had been more than thirty-six hours of searching when suddenly I ran into Erts in one of the places I least expected to see him: the spiral stairs in the observatory. The gigantic domed room directly underneath Kuro's floor typically saw dozens and dozens of visitors a day, but the only men who passed along the spiral staircase were on their way to see Kuro or returning from a conversation with him; it was the only way to reach his chambers, at the pinnacle of GIS's tower. 

The observatory is a popular place because of its golden atmosphere and the great flowering oak in the center of the nurtured garden so far below. Most of the people who come to revel in nature went to the lower levels, towards the base of the tree, so that they could breathe in the scent of the grass and stare upwards through the branches and feel almost as though they lived on a planet. The staircases that criss-crossed around the room were walkways to look down upon the nature, most likely designed to make people feel protective of the greenery below them and subsequently on the planet. The enclaves that lined the basin of the observatory were like portals, windows to a time when the universe was aglow with life and good health. 

Sometimes I think that the reason I like the observatory so much is because of all the hidden meanings behind everything within it. 

Erts was on the spiral stairway, several feet away from the door to Kuro's chambers. He huddled on his step, managing to look small and defenseless despite the demon I've seen him become on the battlefield. I couldn't guess at a reason for him to be there, three-quarters of the way up the spiral staircase to Kuro's chamber and looking down from his vantage point upon the magnificent oak and all the people resting in the shadows of its branches with something almost like sadness painting his features. 

When he saw me approach, he stood, unfolding himself slowly from the stairs. 

"You wanted to talk to me," he said simply. 

So that's why he's here.> I had never talked to him before today, although I had seen him numerous times around GOA and heard much of him from Zero. We had simply never had the occasion to meet formally; I had very little concept of what sort of person he was. I theorized aloud, "Tune must've told you." 

The young Pilot shook his head. "I didn't talk to her. I felt it." 

One of those telepathist things. I wonder how much he can hear, and feel, from others? I wonder if it has to be engaged or if it's uncontrollable? If he could feel my searching for him when he doesn't even know me... does he feel EVERYTHING, or can he tune some of it out, or does it only come to his attention when it's focused on him? I wonder how he doesn't go insane with overload of information and sensation? Does it imply that his brain is differently-structured than that of a normal human being? Does he know my thoughts now?> 

Curse my overactive brain, and the EX that drives it. 

"Do you recognize me?" I asked, stepping closer and fighting the urge to salute -- we were at the least equals now -- instead holding out a hand to be shaken. I tried to project a casual air, to smile and put him at ease; I didn't want him thinking this was an interrogation, which might make him close up and become uncooperative, or ask questions that I couldn't answer yet. 

"I do. You're Clay Fortran, one of Zero's group." He also reached out a hand, but he didn't shake mine -- he just touched his fingertips, very lightly, to the inside of my wrist. Then he gave me a crooked sort of half-smile. "It's alright," he added. "I know why you've been looking for me, also." 

I realized, with a sinking feeling, that there were going to be massive doses of EX mysticism involved in this. So much for the logical approach. 

* * *

But Erts managed to surprise me. Within the space of a half-hour, the terms of our arrangement had been worked out. Erts agreed to answer to the best of his ability everything I asked him, grant me twenty-four hour clearance to the Pilots' quarters so that I could reach him easier if I needed to speak with him, and volunteer his opinions and impressions when he felt that I needed to take them into account. 

And he insisted that he wanted nothing in return. For a while I suspected that it was some sort of trick, that there was a catch hidden amongst the compliance, but as time went by, even when I applied all my concentration to locating it, I could find nothing. It was too good to be true, but how could he turn it to his advantage? He refused to accept any sort of payment or return favor or even thanks for his contributions, so the only possible explanation was that he wanted the good opinion of the future Observer. Which, of course, he certainly had. 

"Where were you yesterday anyway?" was my first real question. "You'd have saved me hours of looking if you'd just been where I was told you would be." 

"Running the diagnostics?" A shadow passed over his face, and he shook his head. "I wasn't feeling well. I wanted to be alone." 

I nodded. "Did Tune know that?" Or had she just refused to answer my questions for fun? 

"No. I don't really talk to Tune." 

That was a surprise. I know that they can't be all that close, seeing as how they're both on their second partners and neither of them wanted a new one, but I hadn't figured they would be completely distant from each other. Upon reflection it seemed much more logical, however -- neither of them seemed the type to take perfect strangers into their hearts. 

"Do you not get along, or is it because both of you are uncertain?" I prompted. 

A brief, almost-smile. "It is because I remind her of my brother." 

"So you _do_ have an older brother," I noted with satisfaction. "It wasn't stated for certain in your administrative data." 

He nodded, unsurprised that I've seen his top secret data profile. (Which was a shame, really, because I kind of want to show off my new power and authority.) "My brother was Ernest Cuore, the previous Pilot 5." 

That set me back a few moments. GOA doesn't keep detailed familial records of any sort, or even the names of basic family members (if Erts' foster parents weren't so well-known, their names would have been stricken from the file, but I don't think anyone _hasn't_ heard of the Cocteaus), so as to avoid accusations of favoritism (and no one who ever encountered Erts in battle tried to insist that the reason he'd been promoted so fast thought the ranks was because Hiram Cocteau was a colony governor). 

And, I realized further, Ernest must've been his genetic brother; the Cocteaus had never had any natural children, and had adopted no others, even aside from the Cuore name that Ernest wore with the pride it merited. (The Cuores had also been famous colony leaders: Tomas Cuore had been hailed as a visionary and could've been the President of the Shantis Solar Cluster in a minute if he'd wanted to be, and his death -- even more so than the destruction of his colony -- had been met with grief and mourning throughout the civilized galaxy.) Both were telepathists, and even looked rather similar, although it had never occurred to me to compare them. 

"So, Tune was your brother's Repairer," I said, just to get things straight. He nodded. "But it's been weeks. Surely at the least she's resigned herself to the fact that she has to move on..." That sounded stupid the moment it came out of my mouth. What if Erts still missed Rome? And I know I would be hurt if in a matter of weeks my former partner was happily bonding with a new Candidate. Not that I was thinking about Saki. 

Erts didn't seem to take offense to it, though. "Well, they didn't have your average partnership," he said noncomittantly. "Tune was in love with him." 

Now, it was making a bit more sense. "I see now. And how did he feel about her?" 

"Not the same. He was in love with somebody else; he always felt kind of sorry for her, even though he did consider her a friend." 

It was rather odd, having such a frank discussion about a dead man's love life with someone I'd technically only just met and knowing that this was part of my assignment, which might affect the fate of mankind. Erts seemed to be having no problem with discussing his brother's emotional affairs, but it was bothering _me_. So I attempted to ask discreetly, "Will I need to know about his affections in my line of questioning?" After all, unless Ernest had been in love with somebody else's Repairer or his own Ingrid or something, there'd be no need for me to know, and we could leave the deceased his privacy. 

"Gareas." 

So much for that. 

"And Gareas--" 

"Is with Leena." 

As good an answer as any. I restrained myself from questioning further on that angle. Erts was the current Pilot for the fifth Goddess -- I wouldn't need to know more about Ernest's relationship with Gareas until I actually reached Gareas in my research. Instead, I said light-heartedly, "Well, you seem to know a great deal about your brother, for all that you've rarely seen him." Unspoken was the insinuation that he was treating the matter very coldly. 

For one brief moment, it was as if his entire being shuttered closed against me: he tensed, his eyes grew hard, and his hands twitched tightly closed. And then that reaction was smoothed away, replaced with serenity once more, but not gone. It remained in the slight sadness in his face as he said simply, "We are very similar." 

Now what is THAT supposed to mean?> My mind instantly proposed a thousand possibilities -- perhaps merely suggesting that because of their close EX abilities they could connect with each other even across the distance, but also perhaps hinting that Rome and Tune were similar in that sense, also perhaps that he loved as his brother, perhaps hinting that he found it difficult to leave his brother's shadow. 

Neither of us spoke for a matter of seconds. It was hard to think of something tactful to cover that up with. I'll need to know, of course, what it meant -- I couldn't report a failure to Kuro, or half-knowledge -- but for now I wanted to let him be comfortable with this acquaintance. 

"So Tune doesn't get along with you because you remind her of the person she loved," I said, lamely, after a moment. 

"I don't think she would take well to any partner, after losing him," Erts volunteered, with similar awkwardness. "He simply meant too much to her. I am simply even less of an alternative, because accepting me would be like diminishing what she felt for him." 

A very interesting concept... "What do you mean?" 

He frowned. It's probably one of those things he feels with his EX in a way beyond logic and words, which don't really explain themselves well when forced into the open air. "It would be... Well, since I am so much like him, loving him so much and then moving on to caring for me as a partner -- especially when I am so much like him -- would be a kind of betrayal. As though her love for him had been so weak that she had been able to put it aside and accept another. I think that in order to be respectful to Ernest, her options are either to maintain her distance from me, or to fall in love with me as a kind of younger version of him." He flushed, just a little but not enough to escape my notice, and glanced over the railing at the great tree. "Even she could not do something like that." 

He was in love with someone. It hurt a bit, to think that I'll need to force that most private of secrets from him; I quickly moved on, to cover anything he may have sensed. "Well, of course not. That's natural. Does she have many friends, Tune?" 

"All the other Repairers are her friends," he responded positively, turning back to face me. "Leena she is by far the closest to, but she's also friendly with Phil and Kazuhi. I don't really think she has many male friends. She didn't even consider my brother a friend, although I know that he thought of her as one; she was always very apologetic and hesitant to approach him about anything, treating herself like a nuisance even when she was helping him." 

"She seems shy..." 

"She is. I don't think she finds it easy to communicate with men. Even with Ernest, she was very withdrawn, and a telepathist is certainly not going to reject anyone." Interesting indeed. I stored that knowledge away for future consideration. 

I tried to think over what I knew of Tune -- whether this would satisfy Kuro's request of me -- and in the end decided that I needed a little more. "How does she approach her duty as a Repairer?" 

Something faltered in his expression again, for a brief moment: I'd come across another sorrowful topic for him. "She's very diligent, but never too pushy," he said after a moment of consideration. "She takes care of everything while we're doing the diagnostics and synch tests and all that; she tries to never intrude upon her partner's private life uninvited." Unspoken but implied was that Erts had never invited her. "In everything she does, she puts others first." 

"And... how would you compare her to Rome?" 

As I expected, there was the topic. "She... she is, of course, a far superior Repairer," he said, with an unconvincing attempt at casual and matter-of-fact. "Rome was always a bit lax -- she put the people above the actual work, really, so she would always forget to do important things, or they would slip her mind. And... physically, this kind of work didn't suit her. Tune is built a little more solidly, and doesn't have Rome's -- condition -- " 

Condition?!> 

" -- and she's very serious about taking her job exactly as far as it's meant to go. That's all there is to that." 

The topic of Rome herself didn't bother Erts, I realized. He could talk about her all day without being unhappy at all. It was the fact that she had been left behind, that she hadn't been good enough -- the fact that _she_ had been hurt by those things! -- which made him upset. 

I wondered about that. Does his EX really extend to the point where another person's emotions affect him more than his own? What does _he_ feel about Rome's leaving? 

"Nothing. Not anymore." 

For a moment, I thought I'd spoken the words out loud, but then I saw his small, bitter smile and realized that I hadn't needed to say anything. "What... what do you mean?" I stuttered, feeling out of sorts. So much for tact... 

Erts turned away again and reported neutrally, "I don't feel my own emotions very well. It sometimes happens to telepathists, Dr. Croford and Dr. Huan have told me: after so long, sensing every emotion that every person around us happens to feel, we get so used to feeling the emotions of others that we forget to recognize our own. And eventually it's almost like we don't really feel anything at all. I don't... I don't know how to feel, anymore." 

The very notion of it was absolutely baffling, but the more I thought about it, the more rational it seemed: almost more rational than anything else I knew about telepathist nature so far. It was like sensory deprivation. When stimuli are forced on a person overwhelmingly and without relief, they naturally stop feeling it to protect their brain from so much sensation. Since nothing can be done to stop his EX until it fades out on its own, he's taken the alternate route -- and cut off his own emotions to lessen the burden. 

Still, to think of Erts as having forgotten _how_ to feel... 

"At all?" I said, sounding pathetically lost but unable to stop myself from pitying him. I wasn't exactly the most emotive of people, but at least I knew how... 

"Not totally," he amended. "Emotions are instinctive, you know -- even animals love and hate and mourn. So every now and then I find myself reacting to something emotionally, but it never last for long and it always goes away again." 

It sounded like Erts suffered from clinical depression to me. He couldn't relate to others, was swamped by things he couldn't control, was in a situation he wasn't familiar with, and lived on an emotional flatline... I wonder if Dr. Huan is making him take something for it? "What sort of emotions do you find you can tell are your own most frequently?" 

He appeared thoughtful. "Despair," was his first response, which pretty much confirmed my analysis. "Fear, sadness... And, well, sometimes amusement or interest." Erts paused briefly. "And... fondness. Sometimes." 

He's trying not to tell me he's in love. I can't blame him.> But I needed to know. Instead of asking outright, I said merely, "There seems to be quite a bit of negative emotions in there. Would you call yourself a pessimist?" 

"Probably." He smiled briefly. "But I do keep hoping... about things," he faltered, then shook himself. 

There was a long pause, and then he said firmly, "I keep hoping that the person I care about will return my affections." He gave me a curious look, as if to see what I made of it. 

I nodded, respectfully, and backed off the topic. 'Tact, tact, and more tact' shall be my Observer motto, no matter what the hell an Observer is. "What about the Cocteaus?" I asked, hopefully moving on to an easier subject. "How was life with them?" 

Not good, I could tell by the falling of his features _again_. Was any topic that I needed to ask about safe? "They were... kind to me," Erts said quickly. "Very generous, to give a homeless orphan a place to live, all the clothes and toys he could ever want, and the best education money could buy. They really were very kind, and very generous." 

It all sounded quite decent to me. I mean, they didn't beat him or starve him, right? 

"They... made sure to tell me so. Every day. Usually at meal-times, which was really the only time I saw them." He shook his head. "I wasn't allowed to call them Mother or Father -- I had to call them Hiram and Dora. And I was never allowed to touch them. Dora used to scream if I got too close to her... 'That horrid little child is trying to read my mind again'..." 

I stared at him. 

"I was told what a selfish monster I was every time I asked for so much as a scrap of affection from them... How what they had given me should be enough, how dare I ask them for more..." Erts shrugged and leaned back. "I used to deliberately do things wrong, or fail tests on purpose just so they would get mad at me, because it was the only way I could get their attention. I was just a trophy child, a living charity that they could brag about to their friends." 

"That's... that's _wrong_," I sputtered, unable to control my indignation. EX and morbid curiosity combined to quickly fill me in on all the potential emotional problems a child treated in such a manner could grow up with. 

"I know," he said simply. 

I couldn't think of anything to say to that. 

Fortunately -- is it really fortunately? can I consider his traumatic childhood to be my good fortune? -- he wasn't finished. He added, "They decided to send me to GOA when they lost interest in their charity project. That way, not only had they taken in and raised an orphan with the best that money could buy, but they had then 'sacrificed' their 'son' for the greater good. The colony idolized them. And I'll always remember how when I protested that going to a military academy... where everyone rivaled each other savagely for power and superiority... where I would be forced to fight just to stay alive... when I told them that it would surely kill me, Hiram said, 'Good.'" 

After another long, astonished pause wherein I completely tore down my preconceptions about the seemingly-perfect Cocteaus, I managed to regain some semblance of equilibrium. "You must be thankful that that part of your life is over," I stammered, then hurriedly drew away from him as a scientist trying to get to Dr. Kuro's room was thwarted by our presence on the stairwell. I resumed my place as quickly as I could, trying not to make it seem personal although it seemed to me perfectly obvious that it would look to him like a rejection. 

But he surprised me again, by smiling. "Do you really suppose I'm thankful? For anything?" He fidgeted with his uniform, which drowned his slender frame in folds of white. "For this?" 

"Well... what about friends? The other Seniors?" 

"I didn't get along with them very well. They were jealous of me. Sure was always nice to everyone, and Aracd was usually friendly, but Force and Yoshino could think up a thousand ways to pick on me or isolate me when they were feeling vicious." He laughed. "They were all supportive when I left, but that was the first time... And Carres was very mocking, and Bellarcha and Una were both her friends -- even though Una was always apologetic when Carres wasn't around -- and Kyoko wasn't really anybody's friend... Rome was wonderful, of course, but..." 

"But Zero!" I exclaimed. "Surely Zero was your friend! He was always going on about--" 

My mouth clamped shut of its own accord, thankfully stemming the flood of stupid things, when Erts went somewhat red and ducked his head at the very mention of the name. 

Oh. Ohhh. Well, that's...> 

"Yes," he murmured faintly, "Zero is... my friend." 

...very interesting...> 

With a wry smile, Erts pushed himself to his feet. "I believe you've got everything you need to know about me." 

"Yes. Yes, I suppose I do." 

As he started down the stairs, I suddenly remembered the third part of my assignment. But this... it had been a long and uncomfortable session, and I didn't want to push him too far, too soon. I decided to let him rest a bit first. I would ask him at dinner. 

* * *

He wasn't _at_ dinner. (For the record, the food on GIS is much better than the food on GOA. Natural, of course -- there are ten times as many people on GOA to feed.) I debated the virtues of leaving him alone versus being able to give a full report to Kuro on Reneighd Klein's team tonight, and selfishness won. So after finishing my solitary meal, I headed over to the Pilots' quarters and hoped that Erts had been diligent about registering me for entry. 

My keycard went through. The barrier slid open silently, giving me my first glimpse on the world of the elite, the world that two hundred Candidates hoped to reach someday, the world that was Zion's last defense against the Victim. 

It was _disgusting_. 

I stared blankly at the mounds of clothing and empty wrappers and mechanical scraps and crumpled pieces of paper and torn books and broken devices that littered the hallway. A random scream caused an automatic flinch, and I half-expected Saki to come storming out and demand to know if it was my fault. 

Instead it was a fit young woman, not much older than me, really, who emerged from one of the rooms along the hallway and stomped her foot. She didn't spare me a glance. 

_"Rioroute! I can't believe your crap is still all over this hallway!"_

Another door slid open. "Phil, what the fuck are you doing shrieking Rioroute's name in the hallway? Some people are busy in their _rooms_, where that sort of thing ought to be kept." 

"Gareas Elidd, I _am_ not putting up with your disgusting innuendo right now. You tell Leena that this hallway still looks like the aftermath of Lost Property and you see how much longer you enjoy being _busy_." 

Instantly, another woman, wearing only a towel wrapped around herself, exploded out past the man in the second doorway. "Oh my God. _Rio! Clean up your crap!_ And you too, Garu, don't think you're getting out of this, I know that you've been taking advantage of his mess to hide some of your own!" 

Another door slid open. "He's not at home," a slender boy said tersely. "He's _eating_." 

"Of course he's eating," the woman called Phil snarled under her breath. "When is he not eating?" 

"When he's sleeping." The boy returned to his room without another word. 

As if on cue, everyone else stormed back into their rooms. I stared for another long moment, trying to get used to the fact that, well, okay, the heroes are actually normal human beings after all, when the second door opened again and the half-naked blonde woman pushed a half-naked green-haired man out into the hall. When the panel slid shut this time, it apparently locked, because the Pilot couldn't get back inside. 

Hoping, for his sake, that that had been her room and he wasn't locked out here for the night or anything, I picked my way down the corridor carefully, trying not to step on anything that was important, or that might eat me. Gareas continued pounding at the door and ignored me completely. 

That was certainly informational. Rioroute Vilgyna of Agui Keimeia is a slob and a pig; Phil Phleira Deed of Agui Keimeia is a shrew. Leena Fujimura of Eeva Leena is prone to fits of righteousness, and Gareas Elidd of Eeva Leena is a sex-crazed scoundrel. Yu Hikura of Tellia-Kallisto, and probably Kazuhi Hikura of Tellia-Kallisto as well, just want everybody else to shut up and go away, and Tune Youg of Reneighd Klein is hysterical. I think Erts might be the stablest one of these people, and that is certainly saying something.> 

Of course, I wasn't serious. Yet. I'm always very pleased to revise my first impressions. Should they be proven wrong. Which, usually, they aren't. 

Erts' door was the last one, on the right, and perhaps it was just me but it seemed almost like the mess abruptly stopped around his door. When I knocked, there was no answer. 

At random: "He's in there," Gareas volunteered grumpily from where he'd thrown himself down on top of a pile of dirty laundry. Apparently it _was_ his room. "He just doesn't always answer the door right away." 

"Thanks," I said, unsure what he thought I was doing there or why he was being helpful, but grateful nonetheless. A considerate sex-crazed scoundrel.> 

Another knock and the door slid open soundlessly. 

Erts was sitting up from where he'd been sprawled across his bed. The room was oddly empty, a few personal effects and customizations here and there but generally very neutral and distant. It reminded me of my room, which was a bit odd. I'd only been there for two days, after all. Erts had lived on GIS for weeks already. 

"I almost didn't hear you knocking," he said, holding up the device in his hands by way of explanation. It was a personal entertainment device -- judging by the settings, he'd been listening to music. 

"Water-type?" 

That won a smile. "Yes. Yes, it is water-type." 

"You seemed a bit more serious than an air-type." And, of course, more depressed. People who prefer "air" music tend to be naturally happy people. 

Erts folded his legs underneath him and waved me in. "I'm sorry I wasn't at dinner -- I should've warned you. I usually take my meals in a more private setting than the public dining hall. Being around so many people at the end of the day is a very uncomfortable experience for me." 

"Perfectly understandable," I said graciously, stepping forward and allowing the door to slide closed behind me. "I would've left you alone, really, but I forgot to ask you a few things." 

He frowned vaguely. "You've already asked about Tune and I... Don't you have enough?" 

"Well, there's one or two more things." Then I stood there for an awkward moment and realized that I hadn't bothered to think up a tactful way to ask them. I looked around the room, trying to stall. 

Following my gaze, he misinterpreted the distraction. "Oh, the room." He fidgeted with the plain blue sheets on the bed and said good-naturedly, "It's funny, about this room. It was my brother's before mine. But when I first arrived here, they had to tell me that he had slept here less than twenty-four hours previous. After learning that, I assumed that the room had been stripped and sterilized for me. But I was incorrect again. They hadn't touched anything. Just in case I wanted to take some keepsake of my only remaining family. Kind of a memento, I suppose, of the brother I never even really knew." 

The sheets really seemed to be a great concern to him. He couldn't tear his attention away from them. 

He whispered, "I don't know if I would have -- taken a reminder, that is -- but I didn't have the choice. The room was emptier then than it is now. There was... nothing left of him for me to cling to." 

Every now and then, someone will say something which leaves me dumbstruck, unable to say anything whatsoever. Zero could do it by exercising a bizarre twist of logic typical of his random nature; Saki could do it simply by reminding me of how much of her own happiness depended on me. Erts seemed to be able to do it, on a regular basis, just by providing details about his life. 

How has this boy survived so long without trying to kill himself?> 

Erts mustered a smile and leveled it on me. "You wanted to ask me something?" 

Suddenly, straightforwardness didn't seem quite so cruel. "I wanted to ask you about Reneighd Klein," I said. 

The smile turned vaguely quizzical, but remained. "What sort of thing do you want to know?" 

I really had no idea. I tried, "Does she handle well for you? Are there any problems with your connection to her?" 

"I think we have a pretty good balance..." He looked thoughtful. "She moves with me. I haven't ever had any problems with her; she's never acted against me or disagreed with me. Tune says she's been unusually placid since I've come here." 

Erts' tone was rather embarrassed, self-conscious. Speaking of the Ingrid as he would speak about a person clearly didn't come naturally to him. 

"What's it like to be her Pilot? In the cockpit?" 

He didn't answer for a long while, thinking about it. Then he said suddenly, "There's definitely somebody there." Erts noticed my startlement, but chose not to comment. "I get images... not thoughts and emotions, like I would get with a real person... just a sense, kind of like a hunch, about how she is. Kind of like what I get from Zion." 

"Zion?" I parroted. 

"Yes -- part of a telepathist's duty, in battle, is to keep in contact with the planet and make certain that there's no disturbances." He shrugged. "Zion isn't a person, so it's not the same as contact with a human, but it's definitely got a sentience." 

"And Reneighd comes through in a similar manner." 

Erts nodded. "Usually a sense of serenity. Every now and then there are also flashes of alarm or anxiety, but the healthy peaceful feeling is always there even in those moments." He smiled sentimentally. "Zion worries about us, you know." 

That notion was strangely charming. It was definitely nice to know that after all that we did to protect the planet, it appreciated us. "And piloting an Ingrid?" I prompted, shaking off the thought. 

"Reneighd..." Erts looked thoughtful again. "She has presence. She's all around me, when I'm in there... sometimes I imagine I can see her, although of course that's ridiculous. And sometimes when I speak to her she answers me -- little things, like flickering the screens I'm looking at, or curling the zeta skin around me." 

So is an Ingrid itself alive? Or could it be that... 

"What else do you know? About the Ingrids in general, or just Reneighd?" I encouraged him. 

"I don't know much about their backgrounds." Erts waved at the window beyond his bed, which opened out onto the great oak tree -- and Kuro's office. "I'm only the first, you know, of a new group of Pilots. Dr. Rivould told me he would give me a real explanation when one or two of the others got here, but that it wasn't worth it to tell me alone." 

I wonder if that's the real reason.> I couldn't help myself; I started pacing about the perimeter of the room as I thought. 

He continued dubiously, "I don't know when she was built, or how, or by who... I don't know anything about her, really." 

"Does she have any defining characteristics that you might think are important?" I pressed. There had to be something important here, but I had no idea what it was. Having never been in an Ingrid myself, I didn't know how to identify that component of specialness that made the so-called Goddesses so very _intrinsically_ different from mere Pro-Ings. 

That component of specialness that Zero had found so fascinating. 

Erts brightened. "Oh, _that_!" he exclaimed, and then flushed when I gave him a startled glance. Telepathist. Right. "That... I didn't understand what he meant by it, either, at first. Not until I'd actually entered Reneighd for the first time. And then..." 

"What?" 

"It's when you really _feel_ her presence." He struggled for the words he needed to explain. "In the gel... I don't know. It's this kind of sensation all around you... the way you _receive_ the stimuli through your EX connection... it has nothing to do with being a telepathist..." Clearly frustrated, Erts explained, "There's something about the way it feels to join with the Goddess that makes me feel like she really has a personality. Reneighd, she's kind of impatient and fussy... She pays attention to details and she's very curious. It's a bit of a paranoid sensation, because even when I'm not thinking about something, she's always watching and checking and thinking about it for me." 

I couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like to experience such a thing, but I didn't need to. I wasn't going to be a Pilot -- I was going to be an Observer. 

And something had just clicked. 

"I see. Thank you for your time," I said, backing out the door. "And I'm... I'm sorry about bringing up Zero earlier." 

That was my way of letting him know that I'd understood what he hadn't been able to say, and apologizing because it was necessary for me to know. He smiled, wearily. "I don't mind. Because I know it's the same with you." 

Saki?> My heart twisted painfully when he nodded his confirmation to the unspoken question. Somehow it seemed far too private, as I hadn't even really acknowledged it to myself, and I felt almost violated that he should know about... her. 

But then, that must be how he feels as well. We're even now.> I bowed in acknowledgement of that fact. "Then I apologize for intruding on you here." 

"It's not a problem." He turned to the window, not looking at me. "You're welcome any time," he added, as if to the luminous tree, as the portal slid shut behind me. 

* * *

Kuro was smiling when I first entered his chamber. I wondered if he already knew that I had what he wanted. Certainly it was nothing he did not know, although how he could possibly since he never left his tower chamber was beyond me. Teela was there again, as she had been the first time I saw him. She had been absent last night. I had wondered if her appearances would be atypical, then, but now wondered if perhaps her absences were. 

Only time will tell,> I soothed myself. 

"Welcome back, Clay Cliff Fortran," Kuro said formally. He hadn't yet called me anything less than my full name. "What have you learned?" 

I clicked my heels together as I drew myself up to full height. "What would you like to hear about first?" I challenged back. 

Kuro's smile widened. "Perhaps we shall start with the Pilot," he said serenely. 

"Erts Virny Cocteau. His natural parents were Tomas and Renee Cuore, and the previous Pilot of the Fifth Goddess -- Ernest Cuore -- his natural brother. His foster parents are, of course, Hiram and Dora Cocteau. Considering the perfect family persona they always put on for the media, one might expect a child adopted under their name to have lived an unremarkable, normal childhood. This is not the case; Erts emerged from their care as an affection-starved and isolated young man," I recited coolly. 

I had chosen that tone after a great deal of thought. The approach that Kuro had recommended to me -- keeping things distant, trying to avoid letting the subject find out the purpose of my questioning -- seemed to suggest that he preferred this to be a clinical and impersonal analysis. So even if I had not followed that advice when approaching Erts (and how could I have, when he seemed to understand my purpose better than I?) it would probably be more according to Kuro's wishes if I kept that clinical and impersonal feeling to it. 

"Their treatment of him is, at best, abuse in the emotional sense. Having grown up in a surroundings where he was not only considered a freak, but told so repeatedly, and treated like a trophy rather than a child, he grew up believing himself to be unforgivably different and unworthy of what any other parents would have given him as a matter of course -- attention, love, and respect. Between their mishandling of his youth and the sort of stigmata that was attached to his identity, he never learned how to make friends, and has consequently spent the vast majority of his life alone, feared, and shunned. So his emotional problems are expected." 

Kuro seemed to be taking it well. He continued to smile approvingly, even nodding at some points in accordance. Of course, the previous had simply been statement of fact... 

"I believe that the most prominent problem to be considered in his management is clinical depression." Fairly simple to diagnose, for him. True depression isn't really about being morbid or dark in nature, but simply existing on an emotional flat-line that is extremely difficult to upset one way or another. Perhaps an emotional deadening is natural with telepathists, but that doesn't change the final result. "If allowed to continue in this manner, it will inevitably begin to affect his piloting. One of the symptoms of his condition is a total lack of regard for personal safety; if he doesn't care whether he lives or dies, then he'll probably have difficulty reacting properly in battle. I expect that his brother had a less prominent version of this disorder as well, although it wouldn't seem to be the entire reason for his death." No, indeed. 

Kuro nodded. "A sound judgement. Yes, we are aware of his condition and have made plans to help him." Teela, saying nothing, moved slowly to stand behind his chair and gaze out at the speckled sky. 

'You have?' I wanted to say. 'What sort of plans? How, where, when, why?' I wanted to say. But I knew that he wouldn't tell me -- not until I had proven myself. 

When I was an Observer I would know. 

Steeling my resolve, I continued, "Aside from his schizoid tendencies, another problem to watch out for is codependence." Another nod confirmed my analysis. "Erts, for all his problems relating to other people, kind of attaches to them very strongly. Although he spends most of his time alone, it's when he's working with or alongside others that his greatest abilities come into play. And he connects to the people he is grouped with very strongly -- being separated from them or losing them would be a crippling experience for him." 

"Thus his increased listlessness after his transfer from GOA," Dr. Kuro noted somberly. He nodded again. "Can you explain why we are not encouraging him to befriend the other Pilots?" 

Erts had given me the answer to this one, but I wouldn't have needed it. The situation was quite clear to me. "Because there are patterns -- almost generations -- of Pilots. Typically, the same five people are Pilots for many months, perhaps even years. Erts isn't part of the current group: he's the first of the new group." 

Rivould said nothing. 

I added, slowly, "You expect the current Pilots to die." 

"Perhaps not die," Kuro amended peaceably, leaning back in his chair. Teela never turned around. "But I do not believe that we have many more months with the current... generation." 

'Then why bother,' I wanted to ask him. 'Why must I get to know all these people who you admit won't last out the year here? What can I possibly need to know about them when they're so close to departing?' 

It was pointless to ask this man anything. Kuro was a master of secrets, and he wouldn't part with them willingly. The only thing he could do was show me how to find the answers for myself. 

Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps the current generation of Pilots and Repairers possessed, without even knowing it, the pieces to the puzzle he had bade me solve, and I was meant to realize not only how to put the pieces together, but which bits of information they gave me were the pieces belonging to this puzzle. 

I don't even know what the puzzle _is_. 

"He also has... a deep emotional attachment to Pilot Candidate #88, one Zero Enna," I informed the Observer, and was shocked to see surprise flash across his face. 

But it only lasted a moment, and then was gone again. In its wake, something almost pleased settled across his drawn features. He craned his neck around, and murmured something to Teela, who responded without moving in a low voice that sent shivers up my spine. I couldn't make out anything either of them said. 

Then Kuro turned around again, and prompted, "What of Tune?" 

"Tune Youg. She was orphaned in an attack on her colony, with no surviving family. She was old enough to survive on her own, and entered GOA as a Repairer. She spent an unusual amount of time in the Repairer Training Program, refusing to be assigned until she was positive she could be a suitable partner," I said, rattling off what I knew from her file. "I attribute this to low levels of self-esteem and a possible avoidant disorder, especially in regard to males. Almost everyone in her relatively small circle of acquaintances is female, but she's very hesitant to express her opinions and tries not to attract attention from strangers." 

The Observer only said, "Continue." 

"Having had a very strong affection for her previous partner, she is resultantly very estranged from her new partner. She and Erts don't appear to have much of a relationship at all; displaying a completely independent partnership, wherein neither associates with the other outside of the minimum. This, again, is possibly a result of her avoidant tendencies, but more likely caused by a sense of loyalty to the deceased." I couldn't make myself say Ernest's name, something instinctively telling me to distance myself. Whether it was for Teela's sake, for Kuro's, or out of simple respect, I didn't know. 

Kuro folded his hands together, and leaned forward. "You have covered the human half of the team. What of the Ingrid?" 

The Ingrid. I'd had every expectation that the Ingrid's line of inquiry would be the most difficult, and I hadn't been let down. I sucked in a breath and tried, "Reneighd Klein, allegedly built in Star-Calendar Year 4098 with the other Ingrids, the last one built before those with the knowledge to build them died." Lost Property was in 4088... "She was made to be a scout and analysis unit, to evaluate the enemy and predict their intentions and channel this knowledge to the others, as well as encourage their minds to allow them to come into deeper contact with their Ingrids. Her Pilot must be a telepathist to best fulfill these purposes." 

"Yes. And?" 

And... "As a scout, Reneighd Klein is extremely alert and conscious, keeping constant watch over everything. Her monitoring is so intense that a normal human, under that sort of pressure, would go insane. It takes a telepathist, whose brain is constantly filled with those stimuli to begin with, to find a balance with her that allows him to process everything she is thinking as fast as it needs to be processed. The atmosphere of her cockpit is very high-stress and nerve-wracking." 

But I'd said something wrong, I could tell. Kuro's face became cool, as if untouched by this observation. What was it? Surely my facts weren't incorrect. 

"You are making progress," Kuro said with seeming reluctance. He clearly didn't personally see much progress, but it was better than I had been before. Now if only I knew _what_ he was evaluating! "I'll expect to see you again tomorrow, with your report on the Fourth set." 

That was it. It was over. 

Where had I lost his approval? 

* * *

That night in bed, I stared at the ceiling for a long while and couldn't sleep. I hadn't planned on getting much sleep to begin with, because I'd wanted to try and figure out what I'd done to disappoint Kuro. It hadn't been while I was discussing Erts or Tune, but rather once we'd started discussing Reneighd. What could I possibly have said wrong by relating facts about a machine that he surely already knew? 

That's what I meant to be thinking. 

But instead I found my thoughts drifting in the worst direction they could. 

I wonder... How they're doing... How she's doing...> 

~tsuzuku...~ 

* * *

In this chapter, we learn that cooperation is vital, even when you're a supergenius. In the next chapter, Clay does some research on his own first! ^_^ Rioroute, Phil, and Agui Keimeia coming up next! 

--Kay Willow, who has three more things to post soon   
MK Info Site: http://dualpotential.net   
Email: kay_willow@hotmail.com   
Contact: (AIM) Savinsilk, (MSN) see email, (Yahoo) kay_willow 


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